Helen of Troy Part 9

XIV.

But when Achilles saw the soaring flame, And knew the ships in peril, suddenly A change upon his wrathful spirit came, Nor will'd he that the Danaans should die: But call'd his Myrmidons, and with a cry They follow'd where, like foam on a sea-wave Patroclus' crest was dancing, white and high, Above the tide that back the Trojans drave.

XV.

But like a rock amid the shifting sands, And changing springs, and tumult of the deep, Sarpedon stood, till 'neath Patroclus' hands, Smitten he fell; then Death and gentle Sleep Bare him from forth the battle to the steep Where shines his castle o'er the Lycian dell; There hath he burial due, while all folk weep Around the kindly Prince that loved them well.

XVI.

Not unavenged he fell, nor all alone To Hades did his soul indignant fly, For soon was keen Patroclus overthrown By Hector, and the G.o.d of archery; And Hector stripp'd his shining panoply, Bright arms Achilles lent: ah! naked then, Forgetful wholly of his chivalry, Patroclus lay, nor heard the strife of men.

XVII.

Then Hector from the war a little s.p.a.ce Withdrew, and clad him in Achilles' gear, And braced the gleaming helmet on his face, And donn'd the corslet, and that mighty spear He grasped--the lance that makes the boldest fear; And home his comrades bare his arms of gold, Those Priam once had worn, his father dear, But in his father's arms he waxed not old!

XVIII.

Then round Patroclus' body, like a tide That storms the swollen outlet of a stream When the winds blow, and the rains fall, and wide The river runs, and white the breakers gleam,-- Trojans and Argives battled till the beam Of Helios was sinking to the wave, And now they near'd the ships: yet few could deem That arms of Argos might the body save.

XIX.

But even then the tidings sore were borne To great Achilles, of Patroclus dead, And all his goodly raiment hath he torn, And cast the dust upon his golden head, And many a tear and bitter did he shed.

Ay; there by his own sword had he been slain, But swift his G.o.ddess-mother, Thetis, sped Forth with her lovely sea-nymphs from the main.

XX.

For, as a mother when her young child calls Hearkens to that, and hath no other care: So Thetis, from her green and windless halls Rose, at the first word of Achilles' prayer, To comfort him, and promise gifts of fair New armour wrought by an immortal hand; Then like a silver cloud she scaled the air, Where bright the dwellings of Olympus stand.

XXI.

But, as a beacon from a 'leaguer'd town Within a sea-girt isle, leaps suddenly, A cloud by day; but when the sun goes down, The tongues of fire flash out, and soar on high, To summon warlike men that dwell thereby And bid them bring a rescue over-seas,-- So now Athene sent a flame to fly From brow and temples of Aeacides.

XXII.

Then all unarm'd he sped, and through the throng, He pa.s.s'd to the d.y.k.e's edge, beyond the wall, Nor leap'd the ranks of fighting men among, But shouted clearer than the clarion's call When foes on a beleaguer'd city fall.

Three times he cried, and terror fell on these That heard him; and the Trojans, one and all, Fled from that shouting of Aeacides.

XXIII.

Backward the Trojans reel'd in headlong flight, Chariots and men, and left their bravest slain; And the sun fell; but Troy through all the night Watch'd by her fires upon the Ilian plain, For Hector did the sacred walls disdain Of Ilios; nor knew that he should stand Ere night return'd, and burial crave in vain, Unarm'd, forsaken, at Achilles' hand.

XXIV.

But all that night within his chamber high Hephaestus made his iron anvils ring; And, ere the dawn, had wrought a panoply, The goodliest ever worn by mortal king.

This to the Argive camp did Thetis bring, And when her child had proved it, like the star That heralds day, he went forth summoning The host Achaean to delight of war.

XXV.

And as a mountain torrent leaves its bed, And seaward sweeps the toils of men in spate, Or as a forest-fire, that overhead Burns in the boughs, a thing insatiate, So raged the fierce Achilles in his hate; And Xanthus, angry for his Trojans slain, Brake forth, while fire and wind made desolate What war and wave had spared upon the plain.

XXVI.

Now through the fume and vapour of the smoke Between the wind's voice and the water's cry, The battle shouting of the Trojans broke, And reached the Ilian walls confusedly, But over soon the folk that watch'd might spy Thin broken bands that fled, avoiding death, Yet many a man beneath the spear must die, Ere by the sacred gateway they drew breath.

XXVII.

And as when fire doth on a forest fall And hot winds bear it raging in its flight, And beechen boughs, and pines are ruin'd all, So raged Achilles' anger in that fight; And many an empty car, with none to smite The madden'd horses, o'er the bridge of war Was wildly whirled, and many a maid's delight That day to the red wolves was dearer far.

XXVIII.

Some Muse that loved not Troy hath done thee wrong, Homer! who whisper'd thee that Hector fled Thrice round the sacred walls he kept so long; Nay, when he saw his people vanquished Alone he stood for Troy; alone he sped One moment, to the struggle of the spear, And, by the G.o.ds deserted, fell and bled, A warrior stainless of reproach and fear.

XXIX.

Then all the people from the battlement Beheld what dreadful things Achilles wrought, For on the body his revenge he spent, The anger of the high G.o.ds heeding nought, To whom was Hector dearest, while he fought, Of all the Trojan men that were their joy, But now no more their favour might be bought By savour of his hecatombs in Troy.

x.x.x.

So for twelve days rejoiced the Argive host, And now Patroclus hath to Hades won, But Hector naked lay, and still his ghost Must wail where waters of Cocytus run; Till Priam did what no man born hath done, Who dared to pa.s.s among the Argive bands, And clasp'd the knees of him that slew his son, And kiss'd his awful homicidal hands.

x.x.xI.

At such a price was Hector's body sent To Ilios, where the women wail'd him shrill; And Helen's sorrow brake into lament As bursts a lake the barriers of a hill, For lost, lost, lost was that one friend who still Stood by her with kind speech and gentle heart, The sword of war, pure faith, and steadfast will, That strove to keep all evil things apart.

x.x.xII.

And so men buried Hector. But they came, The Amazons, from frozen fields afar.

A match for heroes in the dreadful game Of spears, the darlings of the G.o.d of War, Whose coming was to Priam dearer far Than light to him that is a long while blind, When leech's hand hath taen away the bar That vex'd him, or the healing G.o.d is kind;

x.x.xIII.

And Troy was glad, and with the morning light The Amazons went forth to slay and slay; And wondrously they drave the foe in flight, Until the Sun had wander'd half his way; But when he stoop'd to twilight and the grey Hour when men loose the steer beneath the yoke, No more Achilles held him from the fray, But dreadful through the women's ranks he broke.

x.x.xIV.

Then comes eclipse upon the crescent shield, And death on them that bear it, and they fall One here, one there, about the stricken field, As in that art, of Love memorial, Which moulders on the holy Carian wall.

Ay, still we see, still love, still pity there The warrior-maids, so brave, so G.o.d-like tall, In Time's despite imperishably fair.

x.x.xV.

But, as a dove that braves a falcon, stood Penthesilea, wrath outcasting fear, Or as a hind, that in the darkling wood Withstands a lion for her younglings dear; So stood the girl before Achilles' spear; In vain, for singing from his hand it sped, And crash'd through shield and breastplate till the sheer Cold bronze drank blood, and down the queen fell dead.

x.x.xVI.

Then from her locks the helm Achilles tore And boasted o'er the slain; but lo, the face Of her thus lying in the dust and gore Seem'd lovelier than is the maiden grace Of Artemis, when weary from the chase, She sleepeth in a haunted dell unknown.